


Childen

by dracolacerta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bad Parent John Winchester, Child Abuse, Childhood, Dean Winchester Has an Eating Disorder, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Sad Dean Winchester, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:54:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27658460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracolacerta/pseuds/dracolacerta
Summary: Sam and Dean, both still very young, are again left alone by their father. They try as ever to cope with daily life, but not everything is as beautiful and sheltered as it might seem at first sight. "It hurt. It hurt incredibly. They looked so much like her, especially Dean, his older one. The taller he got, the more he looked like his beloved Mary. John swallowed, turned to Sam. His little Sammy. He was still so small, so young - only four years old, but still, he had already been through so much." - Excerpt from chapter one.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	1. Prologue. The children.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I have decided to publish my story.  
> After my breakdown yesterday because of the final - we all know how painful it was - I just wanted to express my pain.  
> I have to say here that English is not my mother tongue and I have never been to an English speaking country before. So please excuse grammatical mistakes, but I tried very hard.  
> I have already published a part of the story in German, so if you happen to know it - which I don't think so - it's mine, I didn't steal it.  
> Have fun!

#  Children. 

###  Prologue. The children. 

####  Libertyville, Illinois 

It hurt. It hurt incredibly. They looked so much like her, especially Dean, his older one. The bigger he got, the more he looked like his beloved Mary. John swallowed, turned to Sam. His little Sammy. He was still so small, so young - only four years old, but still, he had already been through so much. 

Sam was a beautiful child. He had big eyes, which always watched you so carefully, and a small and delicate body. In general, the boy was perhaps even a little too thin for his young age, but the Winchester usually didn't have much money and John was now too seldom with his children to be able to control their eating habits. Dean was already old enough, he should make sure that the four-year-old got enough to eat. Actually, John loved the little whirlwind, loved how he played tag with Dean in the hotel room or how his high child laughter came into his ears. But sometimes, mostly when John came from a not very successful hunt, he just couldn't handle it. His laughter, his voice, his romping, and his playing. Most of the time the hunter then became louder and scolded the children. He was feeling sorry, he didn't want to either, but there was simply nothing he could do about it. 

Dean was very different than Sammy. He was more introverted, didn't have a high and excited voice like Sam. Maybe because he was older. He was eight - and very proud of his age. John had to give him credit for it because the boy did not behave like eight. When he was five years old, John had left him alone with Sammy for the first time. For three whole days. _You must protect Sam. That is the most important thing_! John had told him over and over again. _Protect Sammy_. Dean's mission in life. If the little boy was okay, so could he be okay. When John was gone, Dean took over the role of not only the big brother, he also took over the role of both parents. 

Sometimes John forgot that Dean had seen his mother's death with his own eyes. He simply forgot that he was not the only one who had lost a loved person. Yes, John had lost his beloved wife, but Sammy and Dean lost their mother and had to see it first hand. Sam had been so little - only six months old - but Dean was already four. He had never got the chance to mourn his mother in a child-friendly way. John himself had been in mourning - still was - and Dean had to take care of his father and his little brother. Only after months John had been finally able to free himself from this emptiness and had made it his mission to seek out and kill the yellow-eyed demon - Azael - who was responsible for his wife's death. He had not - not yet - found him, but he had found a lot of other cases. Vampires, werewolves, witches, demons, and much more. They were real and John Winchester was a hunter, freeing the world from evil. And there was enough of that. When John didn't hunt, he drank. Only then could he endure his pain, sometimes even almost suppress it. And of course, his children were lost in the process. At least as far as childhood was concerned. John spent time with his sons. Only maybe different than other fathers with their children.

When Dean turned six years old, John took him to a glade in the middle of a small Kansas forest only a few days after his birthday. He placed plastic bottles at various distances on the ground, stones, branches, or tree stumps and shoved a gun into the trembling hand of the child. At first, Dean had refused, but after long and sometimes very strict talking, the boy had finally unlocked and fired the gun. The first time he did not hit it, but already from the second try, the bullet hit the plastic and made John feel something like fatherly pride. Sam, who had been playing on the meadow just a few yards from the two older ones, had jumped up in shock and started crying. But no one had cared for the kid, because Dean had to keep shooting and John could only concentrate on his older son at that moment. After all, he had to do it right so that he could take care of Sammy and protect him in the worst-case scenario. Dean was no use for John if he could not handle weapons. Demons and other monsters could not be stopped by a closed door. There had to be more headwinds.

Meanwhile, Dean knew that monsters were real. And that John was hunting them. He had decided to let Dean in so that he was better prepared. He could take better care of little Sammy. _Protect Sammy_! The father didn't realize that he was scaring his son to death and that he had to fight with even more nightmares. Or he did not want to notice it. In general, he hated to see weakness in Dean. He himself was not proud of the fact that he became loud too quickly, took to the bottle too often, and unfortunately also lost his patience and composure too often and slipped his hand. Yes, often he hated himself for it, but he just couldn't do better, he felt too numb for that.

He often found himself thinking back to that horrible night in Lawrence when that damn demon murdered Mary. Nailed her to the ceiling and let her burn alive. And he felt weak and pathetic wishing she had never protected Sammy or that the demon had killed one - or both - of his children. He probably would have gotten over the loss of both of them better than he over Mary's. But then he looked at his children and knew he could never forgive himself if something happened to either of them. It hurt his heart not to see the whirlwind Sam playing with his big brother and it hurt him not to hear Dean laugh again. However - **without his children it would be much easier.**


	2. One. The most important thing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, the drama begins. Decisions are made and children are neglected.  
> Have fun.

###  One. The most important thing. 

  
The children slept. They were already asleep when he came. And he had not wanted to wake them. John had been away for two days. For a good two weeks, they had been living in a shabby motel in Libertyville, a community in Lake County, Illinois. Although it was hardly possible to say, they were alive. Rather, they endured. The hunter had not seen such a shabby and run-down motel for a long time. And this, although Libertyville was actually advertised as a wealthy suburb of Chicago. Apparently, every community, no matter how fine, had its dark sides.  
There were only two rooms. The living room with a small kitchenette and two narrow single beds in one corner. And the small bathroom. And this one was really small. There was not even a shower, it was so small. Sam and Dean had to share a bed, the couch was so cramped that nobody could have slept on it. During his research, John had expected silence from his children. Dean had to make sure that the food was ready on time, that Sammy didn't stay up too long and that he didn't make any noise. The two were not allowed to go outside and so the roof quickly fell on their heads. There was a lot of fighting. Between Sam and Dean, between Dean and his father, and even between John and little Sammy. But there was no other way. The children had to understand that John's job was important and only careful planning could lead to success. And the father could only be careful and concentrated when no children were screaming around. 

In fact, it had taken two days to clear the vampire nest. Actually, John hadn't expected to leave the little kids alone for that long time. Of course, he had left them alone for much longer, but then he had always provided them with enough food or made sure that Dean could order something or be brought to his room in case of emergency. This time they had hardly anything to eat and John had a really bad conscience to let his little children hungry like this. Once again. But after he had been able to cut off the last vampire's cruelly disfigured head, he lost all his strength to buy something to eat for his children. He would simply take them shopping tomorrow before they left town and moved on. Then they could go out and maybe they even found a playground where they could play around a bit. 

Sammy had been whining. For a long time. And it had taken Dean his last nerve. Why couldn't he just be quiet? "Dean... I'm hungry," he cried. Dean just wanted him to be quiet. "Please, Sammy. We got nothing more. Dad's just running a little late, he'll be here soon," he tried to calm the little kid down, but Sam just cried more. He was so hungry and Dean really didn't know how to help him. They still had a tin of macaroni, but that was it. "Dean. Please. Make me something to eat," the four-year-old whimpered and tugged at his big brother's shirt sleeve, which was too short. Dean was slowly growing out of his clothes, but John hadn't yet found an opportunity to get his son some suitable clothes. "It's all right. Now stop crying," Dean pulled his sleeve out of the little scion's hands and stood up. While he ran to the bulky, almost ridiculously small kitchen counter, Sam still followed him, sniffing softly. The older one opened the refrigerator, but it was yawning emptiness - except for a few bottles of beer. Dean could not handle alcohol. He knew that adults drank it to feel better, but he couldn't explain the effect of the miracle juice. His father just became incredibly sad at first, then angry, _aggressive,_ then sad again and finally he drifted into a deep sleep. His father was not himself when he resorted to alcohol. He often hurt Dean or he was so terribly angry with Sammy. Dad drank a lot. And Dean hated it.

  
Dean slammed the refrigerator door again and rolled his eyes when he noticed Sam flinched. "Are you mad?" he asked shyly and looked at his older brother. He was afraid that Dean was angry with him and didn't want to play with him anymore. Or that he would pinch him in a way that their father rarely did. But Dean was not like Dad. At worst, he'd just be annoyed. "No, just push me the chair," Dean showed behind him and looked at the wall cupboards, which he could not touch. He was simply still too short, although he felt very big and mature at the age of eight. It was probably even like that. Dean did things day after day that many others could not do even as an adult. He had to manage the household, raise his little brother, and take care of his father. Besides, he sometimes - less often than he should have gone - went to school, had to do homework, got training from his dad, and did the shopping-work.  
"Here Dean.", Sam sounded almost proud when he managed to drag the wooden chair to the kitchen counter and leave it in front of Dean. He took the chair and placed it right in front of the wall cupboard he wanted to hang it on. Carefully he climbed onto the wooden scaffolding and swayed slightly back and forth as the chair was not very stable. "Watch out," the little kid giggled and enclosed his brother's calves with his delicate hands. Dean smiled at this lovely gesture, which would not really help him in a fall, but it was meant kindly and opened the cupboard. Absolute emptiness. Except for the one tin of macaroni. The boy sighed and grabbed the tin. He knew he wasn't the best cook and he always had problems opening the tin, but he had to do it so many times already, so his initial fear no longer existed. 

  
Dean jumped out of his chair, pushed it away, and took the tin opener out of the drawer. Of course, it wasn't from the motel, they didn't even have enough forks for all the plates, but from the Winchesters themselves. The boy needed a good five minutes before he could reach the inside of the tin. He was proud of himself because this time he had not cut his hand on the sharp lid. He quickly grabbed the one-pot they had been using for the last two weeks to prepare their canned food and put it on the stove, poured in the macaroni, and let it heat up. He didn't know when his father would come back, how long he would stay away. There was only what he had put in the pot here and that was really not much. He himself was hungry but could stand a little longer without food. He had to do without, he knew that, for Sammy. So he made a fatal decision: he would split the food so that Sammy could have something to eat now and later. Dean decided that he would just eat more when his dad came home.  
So he waited until the food was ready, turned off the stove, took two plates, filled them both, put one in the fridge, and carried the other one to the small unstable dining table that was behind the shabby sofa. "Come on, Sammy," he said and fetched his little brother another glass of water before they both settled down and Sam began to eat slowly. "And you?", the little boy asked and skewered a burst macaroni. Dean just shook his head and watched his brother eat. Dad would be proud of him. He did everything he could to protect Sam. Sam wouldn't feel hungry, **and that was the most important thing.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it. you'll feel a little better after the finals...  
> I thought it was very good by the way, I think (maybe it's spoiling) Dean would never have been really happy and Sammy had the normal life he always wanted to have...  
> But still, my heart is broken.


	3. Two. I'm sorry, sir.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I noticed that I didn't even write that Spn is not mine and I am not the creator. It's obvious... sadly.  
> So of course I have no rights or anything.  
> Life can be unfair after all...
> 
> I hope you had a nice Christmas or at least a relaxing time. Because of Corona, the holiday is a bit different than usual, but I hope you could still enjoy it.  
> So let's look forward to 2021!

###  Two. I'm sorry, sir. 

Sometimes Dean wondered if he wasn't worth protecting and sheltering. Never was it _someone has to look for Dean_ or _are you all right, Dean?_ It was always _Protect Sammy_ or _Is Sammy okay?_ This was the way it always had been and young Dean strongly believed that this would not change soon. 

  
Dean always looked for all the mistakes to himself, just like his dad always did. John always had something to criticize about Dean, too. For example, he often said that Dean should play with Sam, but when he did, he was always too loud and got in trouble from his father. The best thing was for them to sit on the sofa all day long and not make a sound so that John could get his silence. Dean could not explain what he had to do to make his father see it as right. No matter what he did, it was either wrong for his dad or for Sam.  
"Keep eating, Sam," he demanded when he noticed that his little brother had stopped eating. "But what about you, Dean?" he asked in his childish voice, looking at Dean with his huge eyes. Sam's famous notorious doggy eyes. "Don't worry about me, Sammy. I'm not hungry anyway," he tried to appease the child and waited until Sam had finished his plate and seemed perfectly happy. If a child could be happy with such a life. The eight-year-old looked at the clock hanging over the front door and needed a few minutes to read it carefully. He preferred digital watches, such as those found on cell phones or alarm clocks. It was already 18 o'clock. Sammy would have to go to bed soon.  
"Sammy," Dean said in his time-for-bed voice and grabbed the dirty dishes. "No, Dee." Sam still uses his baby voice when he doesn't want to go to bed. But Dean wouldn't let up. He also wanted a few minutes to himself, and he only got them when he put Sam to bed. Dean put the plate in the sink and turned to his brother with a strict look. "If you get ready on your own now, I'll read you something," he said fatherly and felt relieved when Sam nodded quickly and ran into the bathroom. Dean was simply too tired for a discussion with his brother.

While Sam was getting ready for bed in the bathroom, Dean washed the cutlery and plate and drank a few sips from his brother's glass before he cleaned it up and put it back in place. The moment he finished his work and turned around, he saw his brother running around the room in his underpants, which were too big and almost slipped off his hips. "Sam," he yelled in indignation and had to hold back his laughter as he flinched in fright and stared at his older brother in complete disgust. "Don't look, Dee," he shouted, trying to cover his intimate area with his hands, which Dean hadn't seen anyway, because the boy was still wearing his underpants. In this moment Dean was very happy that he had decided to give Sam the food, because the boy seemed to be starved and the too big pants, which almost slipped off his skinny hips, only strengthened this image. "I'm not looking at all," grumbled the older boy, but couldn't take his eyes off the thin figure. He was sorry that his brother could not have a carefree life, could not have a beautiful childhood like Dean had - at least until his mother died - but Dean really did everything in his power to make it a little easier for him. And that's why Sam liked Dean much more than any other person in this world. He also had almost no attachment to others. He never went to kindergarten and preschool had not yet started. Other than Dean, their father, Bobby and a few other hunters, he knew no one. And most of them he saw so rarely that he forgot them again. He was still so young. Dean was devastated to know that he would never have a real childhood anymore, and even sadder was the thought that Sam would never get to know their mom and dad, who Dean had known. Before his mom died in the fire and part of his dad died with her. "You're looking," Sam glanced angrily at his brother for a moment and then grabbed the pajamas he had inherited from Dean. Like all the clothes he wore. Dean observed how the material wrapped around his body and realized that he must have been similarly thin when he was wearing them. Because the pyjamas fitted quite well. "Are you done with washing up," Sam wanted to know, and Dean freed himself from his rigidity, dried his hands and then ran to the bed where Sam had settled down. Although now that John was gone, both beds were free, the brothers snuggled into one out of habit and Dean made sure little Sam was packed tightly into the blanket. He had grabbed one of the books Dean used to read to him and made himself comfortable in his place between the wall and Dean. "What am I reading to you today," Dean wanted to know, although he already knew the answer. Sam usually wanted to have the same thing read to him. Either fairy tales or the adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer. Sam didn't realize that Dean was not yet so sure about reading and usually invented something. Or he noticed it, but had no problem with it."Snow White," the little one demanded and pressed the fairy tale book with the many pictures into Dean's hands, which they had once received as a gift from a rest stop owner. The lady had been very nice, and because Sammy had been whining so much and Dean had hardly been able to hold him in his arms, she had shown mercy and taken the two-year-old Sam from Dean and instead gave him the fairy tale book. This book had now been around for two years and that's exactly what it looked like. A few pages were stuck together, however that could happen, there were coffee stains all over the book and a few pages were torn out by John.

  
Dean still couldn't explain why his father was so freaked out when he saw the unknown woman holding Sammy in her arms and gently rocking back and forth. He had torn the child from her arm, sparkled at her angrily, then sparkled at Dean even more angrily, grabbed the six-year-old by the wrist and dragged him out of the store. Outside he had started rumbling and blamed Dean all over the place. What would have happened if this woman had been evil and wanted to hurt Sammy? Sam had started crying again and that had made John even angrier. He had put Sam in the car and strapped him in while he kept yelling at Dean. He hadn't even noticed the woman watching them through the window. Dean had started to cry out of his own overwhelming anger and then John's patience was finally gone. "Stop crying," he had yelled and Dean was punished with an almost hateful look that made it impossible to stop crying. And then there had been a clap. Actually, John very rarely struck and never in public, but this time he had been so angry and had received such a shock when he had seen Sam in the arms of the strangers that his thoughts just couldn't be clear. The same moment his little son went down, he already felt bad and guilty, but it was already too late to repent of his act. Dean still held his red cheek, crying, and squatted on the floor, his eyes fixed on John's feet. He no longer felt anger anymore but complete exhaustion. And no one heard anything more from Sam either. "Stand up and get in the car," John had said in a state of distress, leaving his son lying on the floor. He had run quickly around the car, got behind the wheel and waited for Dean to get in the car. He was not surprised that after a few seconds the boy crawled into the back seat to Sam and did not sit next to his father in the co-driver's seat. "Buckle up," John said. He would not apologize. He never apologized. At least not to Dean. Quietly he heard the sniffling of both children and looked for a moment in the rear view mirror. Sam was all stiff and big tears were rolling out of his childish eyes and Dean stared out the window. On his pale cheek you could see a red handprint and John was getting sick. He knew he had done wrong, but Dean had deserved it in some way. It was his own fault. He finally had to realize that he could not do something like that. He couldn't give Sam to strangers, he had to take care of him all the time. Otherwise John would not be able to take them with him to the supermarket anymore. And he knew that they liked to get out of the stuffy and much too small rooms of any motel or hotel. John needed to be able to trust his son, but if he couldn't even go shopping in peace, how would he manage? How could Dean protect Sammy from the monsters of the world if he couldn't even hold him for 20 minutes?  
When he started the car and looked again at the rest stop, he saw the strangers standing at the window and he got even sicker. "Just look what you've done, Dean," he said a little louder again, he had noticed the shaken look of the woman and watched furiously as she wrote something down. Probably his license plate number. How could John have been so stupid as to hit his son in the middle of the rest stop parking lot when he knew that cameras were usually pointed at the parked cars? **"I’m sorry, sir."** , heard John Dean whispering softly from behind and shook his head before he pressed the gas pedal and navigated the car across the streets. He drove straight to Bobby's house to get a new license plate made and to give the children a short break. 


	4. Three. Kill Snow White.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter about the sweetest Sammy and a great Dean.  
> Have fun.

### Three. Kill Snow White.

Dean hated to think back to that day, after all, terrible things had happened there, but he liked the book that the nice lady - who hadn't been bad at all - had given him and Sammy. "So, Snow White," he said, turning the right page. Sam stroked the girl's picture with his little fingers and looked at Dean almost dreamily. "She's pretty," he said as he did every time and a gentle smile fell on Dean's lips. "That's right," he said and stroked Sam's arm before pulling the boy closer and snuggling up to his brother. 

"Once upon a time there was a queen who sat at the window and knitted," Dean began the story which his brother had asked for. Meanwhile, Sam looked at the drawn picture of the evil witch. It was a young woman with black hair and a crown. The skirt of her dress was pompous and red, embroidered with elegant black patterns, flowers perhaps. You could not see it clearly. The corset she wore was black and artfully decorated with gold fabric. She looked very unhappy, almost angry, the corners of her mouth were twisted downwards and one of her hands was lying theatrically on her chest. In front of her on a black table stood a mirror, but the viewer of the picture could only see the back of it. Sammy didn't like this painting, Dean knew that. It seemed threatening and this is exactly how the eight-year-old imagined the witches his father hunted down and killed.  
"The queen, instead, was distracted and pricked herself by the needle. Three drops of blood came out of the wound." How did the blood look, Sammy?", Dean continued to speak, looking at his brother, whose eyes began to shine. "Blood red." he said happily, jiggling slightly next to Dean. "'Oh' said the queen, imagining what it would be like if she had a daughter. How would you like that daughter to look?", Dean knew how much Sammy loved to be included. He had been hesitant at the time, but now he knew exactly how the story was supposed to go."A girl as white as snow, lips as red as blood and hair as black as ebony!" he looked really proud as Dean nodded. "Shortly after, she gave birth to a daughter, who she named Snow White. Shortly after that, the queen died. Her husband, the king, found a new, very pretty wife. But this one was a witch who had nothing good in mind. She hid Snow White in the farthest corners of the castle," Sammy drew in a frightened breath, although he knew exactly what was happening. Dean looked at him playfully serious to reinforce what he had read. Well, even if Dean didn't read this story aloud. He knew it from memory and if he forgot something, he just made something new up. "The new queen had a magic mirror. Remember what she always asked him?", Dean tapped the mirror on the picture and looked at his brother, who reverently wrapped the blanket tighter around him. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?" he whispered and his big eyes searched his brother's excitedly. Dean nodded and disguised his voice as he answered in the role of the mirror, "Queen Madam, you are the fairest here.", Sammy chuckled and his mouth was slightly open, so eager to see what would happen next. "Always the mirror answered the same and always the queen was satisfied. Until after a few years something happened that she never expected...", Dean disguised his voice again, " Queen, Snow White is a thousand times more fair than you.", Sam started to grin and nodded. "She's an ugly wicked witch, isn't she!" he exclaimed, eliciting a soft laugh from Dean. "True." he said, stroking the page of the book. "But the queen saw it differently than us and the mirror and was very angry.", slowly the boy turned the page. "As angry as Dad gets sometimes?" asked Sam shyly, not daring to look at Dean. "No, much angrier.", for a moment both kids sank into their thoughts, but then Sam fidgeted again.  
"Here comes the hunter now." he said gleefully. Dean nodded. He always thought of their father when they arrived at this scene. "Exactly. Because the queen couldn't accept that Snow White was more beautiful than her, **she called a hunter to kill the girl,** " Dean tapped on the drawing of the hunter. It seemed to be a hunter who shot animals in the forest, at least wore such clothes as Dean saw in his cartoons. The children looked at the picture and Sammy again stroked Snow White, who looked scared and dirty. Her hair was tousled and her elegant dress was torn. "The queen threatened the hunter. If he didn't kill Snow White, he would be killed," Sam groaned and shook his head. "But for real, the Hunter was actually going to kill the witch, right?", the little boy spoke and Dean nodded. Sammy yawned. "You know something, Sammy? I'll read the rest to you tomorrow. Now you sleep a little.", at first Sam didn't seem enthusiastic and Dean thought even that now a discussion would come after all, but to his surprise his brother first sighed, then nodded and snuggled more into blanket and pillow. "Okay. Will you stay here until I fall asleep?" he asked, looking sweetly at Dean. He nodded and put the book on the floor. Then he snuggled up to the skinny one and stroked his hair. "You just wait and see, Sammy. Tomorrow Dad will be back.", he murmured and pressed himself more against the little kid. Sammy nodded and closed his eyes. Just a few minutes later, he was asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all had a good start into the new year. Mine has been okay so far... medium good. Everything is still as in 2020, and I think it will stay like this for a long time (for us in any case at least until March please).  
> Stay healthy.  
> Stay at home.  
> Stay safe!

**Author's Note:**

> I have absolutely no idea about "HTLM", so now I just hope that everything worked well...


End file.
